


After All Is Said & Done

by Ritzy_bird



Series: Summer Jearmin Week 2020 [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Amalur AU, Bathing/Washing, Blind Armin Arlert, Curses, Dark Past, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Goodbyes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Old Friends, Reminiscing, Sorcerer Armin Arlert, Stargazing, Thief Jean Kirstein
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:07:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25201396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: Summer Jearmin Week 2020Day 1: StargazingAfter years apart, Jean and Armin meet again under an enchanted night sky one last time to say their goodbyes all over again.*Sub/Untagged Amalur AU because it is so fucking loosely based and does not involve any of the names or characters of anything from that so!
Relationships: Armin Arlert & Jean Kirstein, Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein
Series: Summer Jearmin Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825654
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	1. Like Ice

**Author's Note:**

> This will have 3 chapters, all entries for Jearmin week!  
> The fic is tagged as explicit because it's gonna get explicit. New tags will be added to the fic as I write the next chapters, however the trigger tag of "No Archive Warnings Apply" will STAY for the entirety of the story. This mini-fic has a happy ending.

Maybe one day all these steps wouldn't feel like such a workout. It wouldn't be so bad if Jean could just sprint up them or something, but that was considered "undignified". Looking the way he did, mismatched clothes and covered in dirt? Any sudden movement might make him look suspicious! 

Until he met Armin, he'd never had a reason to come all the way up here! Such a chore.

Nobles and scholars really needed to be  _ this _ high up above the common folk? Was it not enough that they were already better off? They had to be a thousand meters into the sky, and for what? 

Jean huffed as he looked behind him, down at the countless amount of steps below him. It felt like they added more since he was younger.

"So this is what getting old is like?" Silently, he vowed he would never settle down in a city. Life on the road might've been more uncertain, but at least there weren't any stairs!

"Jean? I thought that was you!" A familiar voice called down to him from the landing.

Looking up, a faint smirk on his face, Jean began to make his way up faster. Each step felt heavier, yet he made the effort to keep his breath even. He didn't like the idea of Armin chastising him for being so out of shape for someone traveling the countryside. 

"I  _ hate _ when you do that!" Jean feigned annoyance, hoping it would mask how out of breath he was. 

Armin looked so different from the last time Jean had seen him, with new deep robes of tan and purple. Jean wondered what that made Armin’s rank, or if it really mattered. Magic was never really Jean's interest, nor was the hierarchy of the scholars who tried to control it.

Standing straight, Armin dramatically gestured towards the stairs, "What? You're the only person I know who  _ complains  _ so much on their way up." He didn't falter at all, perfectly balanced. It seemed like Armin didn't need the help of his staff to get around anymore.

" _ Yeah _ , well, if I remember right, you weren't too hot about these things either the first time we climbed ‘em." Jean breathed out, finally catching his breath.

It felt like a lifetime ago, yet it was barely the better half of a decade since he and Armin arrived in this city. Jean just wanted an easy fix to his problems, but Armin? Armin wanted to learn. From the looks of it, he’d succeeded.

"Hmmph! Must be a sight thing. Maybe next time I'll meet you at the bottom?"

Jean swallowed, and instinctively looked to the side. He knew it was pointless, given Armin's blindness, but his guilt wasn't as smart as that. 

Next time? Maybe the message he’d sent wasn’t clear enough.

Armin either couldn't sense Jean's attitude, or simply didn't care. He turned and started walking, oddly enough to the east. "You don't mind if we go sit down, do you? I've been standing around waiting for you for hours!"

The upper city was comprised of multiple sections, with the western side being dedicated to all those damned scholars and sorcerers Armin loved so much. To the  _ east _ , was where the nobility lived, worshipped, and ran what they convinced themselves was their people. 

Brow raised, Jean started to follow. He made sure to keep his hands in his pockets, knowing any loftier citizens would look at his 'filthy' attire and assume he was some skeevy thieving type. Which, he  _ was _ , but he would never try something as stupid as stealing from the nobles in their own neighborhood.

Hopefully Armin's presence next to him would keep anyone from calling the guards. He did look very dignified, almost as if he'd been raised here, and not in some nameless farm on the outskirts of society. No, Armin wasn’t always like this….

"Where are we going?" Jean asked quietly, again hoping to avoid any attention.

"The garden of course! Don't tell me you wanted to sit in the library, or Goddess forbid, my barracks again!? You always complained about being there, remember?" Armin's tone was humorous, mocking, just like old times. That was a relief.

"What, so you wanna go on a walk in the park? I don't think--  _ Oh _ what…  _ what _ happened to the…?" The darkening sky had distracted him. Jean was about ready to swear this curse had finally come to end him! It was morning, not even midday yet, last he checked.

Armin chuckled, not missing a beat as Jean lagged behind. "So you  _ haven’t _ been here before? It's enchanted, so it's always night time here." 

Jean never heard of such a thing, but then again, he avoided cities at all costs, even the capital. The only stories he cares to hear were tales of legendary treasures and the people skilled enough to find them.    
  
Armin never took him to the east side of the upper city before, so what reason did Jean ever have to be here?

"And it's…  _ always _ like this?" Jean marveled at it, as he never would have thought magic could be used for something so… pointless. Beautiful, but surely this was more detrimental to society than helpful, right?

"So they say! What d'you think?" Armin looked to Jean, as if he could still see him. 

"I mean… it's kind of dumb." Jean was well past lying to Armin, even if it might spare his feelings.

Armin scoffed, eyebrows shooting upward as he looked forward again. Coming towards an iron bench, he outstretched his hand slowly, like he was getting a feel for his surroundings. 

Jean was confused for a moment, unsure of how Armin managed to spot and sit at the bench so effortlessly. Had he memorized the entirety of the upper city?

"Go on," Armin challenged, relaxing against the curves in the metal. "Tell me Lord Jean The Cunning, why is our undying, beautiful, enchanted garden of stars so  _ stupid _ ?" 

Jean wanted so badly to roll his eyes. Armin knew damn well how much Jean resented titles, as they both knew Jean would never have one.

" _ Okay _ !" Jean loudly let himself fall onto the bench, an arm slapping down on Armin's leg as he did so. "How are any of these plants even alive without sunlight!? And, does it rain? How do any animals thrive in almost complete dark--"

A sudden shift next to him, followed by the spark of blue electricity shooting up his arm cut him short. Jean nearly bit his tongue, and proceeded to choke as he failed to take a breath. 

It wasn't enough to injure him, or even mark his clothes. It just... shocked him, no pun intended. 

With a useless glare, Jean yanked his arm away from Armin's leg. If only he had a perfectly formulated insult at the ready to hurl at Armin!

"Just like what I did to you; it's  _ magic! _ " Armin answered the previous questions, hand raised ever so lightly with dancing fingers.

Jean should have  _ known _ . Little stunts like this were always Armin's emotional response to his blunt, snarky comments. This time however, seemed very much intentional and not a mishap with his once budding powers.

" _ Fucking  _ **_magic_ ** \--!" Was all Jean could hiss under his breath, quickly patting off his arm as if there were dust on it. More dust than normal, that is.

Armin only giggled, and for the sake of their friendship? Jean ignored it. A few nobles across the garden gave them looks, but given that it wasn't  _ actually _ nighttime? They couldn't really complain. Right?

More calm, Jean breathed out his nose as he looked back out at the massive park. It was mostly made up of shrubs, thin ash trees, and the occasional patch of white and orange flowers. Nothing very intriguing, but they  _ were _ dozens of meters in the sky. 

"...Just seems like a lot of work to waste on something just to be pretty." 

"Is it?"

" _ Yeah _ , you'd think someone with that kind of power would cure d--"

" _ No _ , I mean, you think it's pretty?" Armin quickly interrupted, though he didn't sound annoyed.

"...You know I prefer the sunrise but, yeah. It's the night sky, of course it's pretty. But you…?" Jean sighed, looking Armin in the eyes. "What you, you've never been over here before?"

Armin made a face, a single eyebrow raised and lips thin. For a moment, Jean thought he'd be offended.

"Not before the accident, no?" Armin's face then relaxed, hands raised in a half shrug. "Why would I ever come over here? I'm not interested in politics- and do I  _ look _ like a noble to you?"    
  
Perhaps he  _ was _ offended, for Jean to dare accuse him of spending time with noble elves instead of doing literally anything else.

Jean only scoffed, turning away again, "I don't know! In all the time I was gone I figured you might get used to the stuffy shit."

The attitude, however, was a facade. His mind drifted to the memory of Armin's accident: Magic gone wrong, magic that had blinded Armin forever. He never told Jean what he'd been trying to do, only that his mentors forbade anyone from helping him reverse it. Something about accountability, the natural order, and something something laws or whatever. Damned sorceress.

"You're just saying that because I'm not caked head to toe in mud like you anymore." Armin was well past getting riled up by Jean's elitism.

"And speaking of all this time you've been gone," Armin's tone shifted to a more casual one. "I can't believe you never wrote me a single letter."

"A--?!  _ Armin _ , you--"   
"I have people read and write for me  _ all the time _ , like a stuck up noble. Come on, it's not like I could've sent one. You people just go where you please, and do you tell anyone where you’re headed? No!"

There was a firmness to Armin's voice, though it didn't overpower the thin smile that was on his face, or the softness of his brows. 

Jean blew air out his nose, after staring longer than even someone without their sight would enjoy. He ran a hand through his hair, the other lifted and gently slapped down on the respective knee.

The two of them sat in silence. It wasn't awkward, or uncomfortable, but it wasn't cozy either. Jean couldn't, no  _ wouldn’t _ make up an excuse for not writing to Armin in years. He traveled with his merry band of entertainers, thieves, and artists endlessly, without thinking much of how Armin fared. 

Jean did promise he'd come back one day, to show Armin he could triumph over the magic that cursed him. 

Armin made a promise, too. That he wouldn't go anywhere ‘fun’ without Jean, unless he beat his own curse first.

'A race then?' Was the joke they made as they parted ways for what they secretly knew would be a long, long time. Longer than they'd ever been apart since they met.   
  
  


"I get this short, crappy little note by courier that you're coming by! So," Armin leaned into Jean, briefly nudging him.

"Do you need me to dispel some locked treasures for you again? Or open a magic door into some ruins you can't unlock?" There was a hint of excitement underneath the mockery, and it faintly rubbed off onto Jean.

Oh, the trouble they got into. The skills they taught each other, and the fun they'd shared once they were no longer running for their lives! 

Jean didn't resist smiling, allowing himself to reminisce on their best,  _ and _ worst, highly dangerous pastimes. It was always about the thrill.

"Hm!" Jean pulled out a set of sheathed daggers, reminded of the endless sessions he'd attempted to train Armin in their use.

"I did wanna give you  _ these _ ," Jean reached for Armin's right hand, tapping it lightly. "Glove off." He murmured, admiring the softness of the fabric on what little of his calloused palms were exposed in comparison.

Without a word, Armin obliged, a calm setting into them both.

Jean took one of the blades out of their sheath, holding it horizontally between the two of them.

Grabbing Armin's exposed hand, Jean decidedly ignored the warmth of it, before he gently began to grasp it and all his fingers. He opened the palm, carefully placing the index finger and thumb on either side of the blade.

With his own matching fingers overlapping Armin's, he slowly glided their fingers across the blade, towards the tip.

"You have to be careful," Jean instructed quietly, glancing towards Armin's entranced expression. "They're  _ very _ thin, thinner than any other dagger."

As they reached the tip, Jean sighed triumphantly as he understood just how patient and trusting Armin was. Still was.

"And, they're poisoned." He finished, carefully removing their fingers from the blade so not to accidentally get them both cut. It was hard for Jean to keep his hands steady these days.

Mouth parted, Armin looked stunned into silence. His brows then scrunched together, and there was a sadness in his voice as he spoke up. 

"Jean, did you  _ make _ these?" 

Armin always did say that venom was a mage's truest friend. What magic couldn't undo, toxins would always kill. 

"No!  _ Hehh _ , I don't think I'll ever be that good with my hands!" 

Armin's lips met again, and with a blink, his eyes were looking straight at Jean. "Did you steal them?" 

Was it a joke, or was it something more…? Jean refused to linger on it, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he remembered a time they'd stolen an entire cache of weapons from some bandits. None of them were any good, but it was how Armin learned he favored the staff over a sceptre.

" _ Actually _ , they're a family heirloom." Jean wasn't about to  _ buy _ something for Armin, that would be absurd! The thought of it actually had him laughing.

"You think you remember how to use 'em?" Jean continued to laugh, though it was cut short as he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

Before he could fully register to the sensation, his whole arm was quickly twisted and thrust towards his chest. The dagger's tip barely pricked his armor, just slightly scratching it.

Armin let go of Jean's arm, laughing harder than either of them had the entire morning. " _ Oh  _ I wish I could see the look on your face!!" He brought his still gloved hand up to his mouth, muffling the deep, overjoyed heaving. 

Forgetting all about the occasional worried noble, heart pounding fast enough to give Jean whiplash, he quickly sheathed the dagger. In the past, he would've been able to stop that.

"What the…!" Shocked anger, though, quickly melted into forgiveness, and then became a twinge of pride. "You could've actually stabbed me!" He tried really hard to teach Armin how to stab someone in the heart.

Armin only shook his head, hand dropping dramatically to his lap. "What? I didn't push it that hard, and you're always wearing armor! It felt," His bare hand moved across Jean's chest, fingers tracing the bumps, cracks, and grooves in the worn material. "Thick. Is that troll skin? Where'd you steal that?" 

Jean huffed, flicking away Armins hand in mock offense. "Someone gave it to me--"

"Another  _ family heirloom _ ?" He appeared more relaxed now, voice more curious and humored. 

It was hard for Jean to think back to when he abhorred Jean's thieving, insisting that there was never any excuse for what Jean and his family did. 

"Jean… when you say  _ family _ I know what you mean." His tone hadn't changed, but Jean knew Armin was really trying now to get him to open up.

Family meant a lot of things, and for Jean that just happened to mean the dozens of people who'd just decided to take him along one night after he failed to steal their food. It wasn't perfect, as people came and went faster than clouds passed by the moon. But they kept with him for the better half of his life, so they were family. _ Armin _ was family.

Jean looked at Armin's faux gaze, frowning. This was why he never wrote. He was poor with words now, like everything else. But that truth just wouldn’t do Armin any good.

Growing more impatient with himself, Jean just kept looking back and forth, head shaking and teeth clenching. "I…  _ I _ \--"

"Let's…! Let's go, take that walk in the park."    
  
Armin gave a gentle tap to Jean's knee, and the visible violet spark of lightning bounced off his leather padding. The tingling sensation made Jean's hairs prick up, but he didn't hate it. Not this time, anyway.   
  
Sliding the gift back into his belt, Jean begrudgingly followed Armin's lead. He was surprised when he felt Armin's bare fingers intertwine with his fingers. They were so much closer now than when they'd been walking earlier, Jean's shoulder was brushing up against the plumb of Armin's staff. A little uncomfortable, but it was worth it when compared to Armin's smooth skin brushing against his exposed palm.

It wasn't very long, walking agonizingly slow around the winding paths of the garden, before Jean tried to speak again. He would open his mouth only to close it again. Where to begin? His plans, his feelings, his questions? This was why he should have written Armin letters.

"I guess it’s pretty quiet here, since it's always night… I still don't know if I like it." Armin mumbled, not looking towards anything in particular. Maybe he didn't care if Jean was paying attention.

White lights blipped past them occasionally, like the magical cave flowers Jean never saw glow until he was with Armin. The sky  _ was _ pretty, and this place  _ was _ quiet, peaceful… magical. If Jean weren't so at a loss for words, it might've annoyed him even more.

"I can't even sing anymore." Jean was barely audible with his grumbling, yet he was sure Armin heard him. Did his voice matter, compared to all the other things that slowly faded away from him? Armin always wanted to hear Jean’s singing voice, and now, he never would. Did it bother him at all?

But… they just continued walking, aimlessly.    
  
  


"Sometimes the novices talk about coming out here, but? I don't remember it being popular when I started my training." Armin smiled as he said it. He knew full well that he’d preferred training outside the city, the delinquent who rubbed off on all his peers. 

"What do you…." Jean trailed off, thinking better of asking academic questions. As if Armin cared if Jean noticed the new rings on his free hand. Magic relics, and proof of his skill and knowledge. But Armin wasn't a bragger anymore, hadn't been since the accident. 

  
  


Without knowing it, Jean was being led to the northernmost edge of the garden. Armin let go of Jean’s hand as they stopped by the edge, near an ash tree. In the distance, Jean could see where the enchantment ended; The ocean that crashed on the shore being a different color than the one on the horizon.

Silence was replaced by the distant waves, and the breeze picking up and drifting away again. Jean would miss the ocean. He would miss how blue it always was, even at night when it became darker, and deep.

"Jean?" Armin turned his head halfway, "I know they care for you, they probably really… love you, in that vagabond sort of way. But they wouldn't just," His bare hand slowly reached to Jean's side, stopping once he touched the leather sheath of the daggers. " _ Give _ you these."

No, they wouldn't. Not unless they were cursed or something and they thought it’d be funny. Luckily for Armin, they weren't.

"I'm, ehrm… I'm leaving.  **I'm leaving** ." The second time he was more sure of himself, confident in the words.

Armin let out a short laugh, his hand reaching up to pinch Jean's side. "You came back here after not being around, to tell me you're still not going to be around!? Jean, you could have just  _ sent, a let-ter _ !"

Jean swallowed, grabbed Armin's hand, and lowered it. He stared at Armin, wishing he were good enough at words to do what his face must’ve explained clearly.

Armin adjusted himself after a moment, squeezing Jean's hand as he took a step closer. "Where?" Having been a show off in his studies, Armin knew just how big the world was, how far Jean could really go now that the world was truly healing from the war.

"I'm not getting any better-- probably just worse by now so…! Everyone or…. I don't know, I just, I just think I'll find better help in the desert." Jean tried to focus on the ocean, tried to capture it in his mind. It was a better memory to hold onto than Armin's face.

"...I…. Oh I, I see." Armin muttered, his grip loosening. None of the scholars or master sorcerers here could find a way to undo the ancient curse that had its hold on Jean. That's why he left the first time.

"That's… far away." Armin wasn't wrong, but he was putting it rather mildly. The time it would take to reach it… the complete opposite side of the continent? The kind of magic practiced in the desert was as different as it was distant.

Jean still wouldn't look at Armin, but he refused to let go of his hand. He kept biting into his lips, chapped and dry as they were, he knew they'd only get more cracked than the very desert canyons themselves, eventually. 

It would have to be worth it, though, to have his life back. The cunning, the elegance, his voice, his charm, his reputation, his future, his everything! It had been nearly a decade with his life cursed to failure, to weakness. Armin tried so hard to get it all back for Jean and….

Jean squeezed his eyes shut, "Your,  _ eyes _ , I--"

"So what  **_about_ ** them!?" 

Armin didn't sound angry, but Jean had. Even if he didn't feel that way, even if Armin did. 

"I don't  _ care _ about them anymore, Jean!" Armin reassured, closing the distance between them as his other arm reached out to grip Jean's respectively. 

It wasn't about how Armin lost his sight. It  **wasn't** about that. They were both cursed now, and Armin had learned to live with it. While Jean kept struggling to conquer his own. 

A curse of weakness, indeed.

"I have to…." Jean wasn't even sure what he meant or wanted to say. 

Armin could hear the break in his voice, and he softened, releasing the death grip he'd put on Jean's arm. 

"I'm not upset." He sighed wistfully, bringing the gloved hand up to Jean's face. "All I wanted from you was, _ letters _ …. They have paper in the desert, don't they?"

Jean laughed unexpectedly, eyes blinking away what had been the beginnings of tears. "Should h-h--... I should hope so," he collected himself, using his released hand to wipe the dampness from his face. "But I, do hate writing."

"What, why? It's not that hard, the other adepts say my handwriting is," Armin squeezed Jean's hand lightly. " _ Better _ now than it's ever been!"

The joke made Jean smile a little more, and he decided not to bring up how Armin allegedly made others write for him now. 

"Words, Armin, it's…! Just, thinking of what to say is, hard enough in person." Jean lamented over forgotten words, everything from instructions, to lyrics, to names. Folklore and omens, deals struck and rumors shared…. He'd always been so honest, outspoken, and snappy. It wasn't like that now.

Armin pulled away, "It can't be that hard…?” He blinked, head raised as if he were gazing at the ‘night’ sky. “If it is, then tell me: The night garden is so pretty to you, what’s it really like? Describe it-  _ for me _ ."

With another sigh, Jean tilted his head back, taking in the sight of the enchantment. Yes, it was pretty. He always preferred a morning over a night, but maybe the marvel was in the magic and not the image.    
  
"Its... dark,  _ deep _ purples.” Being descriptive could be difficult sometimes. Words floating around his head just fine, but escaping him when he tried to say them aloud. “White lights, they’re kind of…? Annoying? Yeah.”   
  
Armin didn’t stop him once, not to chastise him, not to comment on whether he could even imagine such colors anymore, not for more detail, nothing.    
  
“Silver clouds. And… and a lot of…" Maybe the beauty wasn’t in the magic after all. Jean wasn’t sure.

"Lots of what?" Armin hung on every word as they whispered back and forth to each other. They were closer than ever now, as they both looked up at the enchanted sky.

"Blue, just… like…" Jean raised his free hand to touch Armin's elbow, still treasuring the way their other hands held each other.

Armin blinked, head tilting, face growing closer to Jean's. " _ Hmmh _ ? Like what?"

Jean pulled them together just a little bit more, their chests inches from meeting. "Like….  _ Oh _ …  _ like _ \-- Ohh fuck the stars, Armin I just want to kiss you." Jean breathed out heavily, immediately afraid now that he'd disrupted their moment.

Armin didn't look shocked, humming briefly before a smirk spread across his face. "I know…. Words aren't so hard now, are they?"

Jean scoffed and yanked Armin forward, pressing their lips together in an uncomfortable clash of teeth that Armin laughed into awkwardly. They pulled away for a moment, Jean flustered, and Armin giddy with snickers.

" **Jean** ," Armin stated more firmly, a smile still plastered to his face. "What kind of blue…?"

Huffing, embarrassed and frustrated, Jean more gently closed the distance between them once more. " _ Like _ the ocean!" He snapped, bringing them into another, much softer kiss.

" _ Like _ my eyes?" Armin mumbled against Jean's lips, his laughter now suppressed.

Jean leaned his forehead against Armin's, vision crossed with how close they were. " _ Yeah, _ keep 'em… open." 

Armin blinked a few times, reaching his hands around Jean's waist as he tilted his head forward for another kiss.

Cross eyed and lighthearted, Jean kissed back as gently as he could, knowing he might not get another chance. The blur of blue dominated his vision, like the ocean and the morning sky.

Jean  _ would _ miss the ocean most of all.


	2. Wet Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer Jearmin Week 2020  
> Day 3: Jealousy  
> They've kissed, they're saying goodbye, but Armin just wants to spend a little more time together, is that so wrong?

Years ago, these halls made him feel exposed, the stares of those who called them home were like ice. They were dark and dusty in their own right, but there was the occasional warmth from a burning lamp or an extravagant window. Sorcerers did need their own form of drama, after all.  
  
Armin didn’t walk through them meekly anymore, no _now_ he lead Jean through them with confidence and the precise knowledge of where they were going. This place was Armin’s home now, and like magic, Jean became invisible to those around him. All eyes, if every they made focus, were only on Armin.  
  
“ _Adept_ .”  
  
A term of acknowledgement from nameless sorcerers they passed, all with a curt bow or nod in Armin’s direction. None of them received any kind of response from Armin, and as they walked onward, Jean started to get the feeling that Armin’s _rank_ alone wasn’t what made him so popular.  
  
Jean may have been cursed, but he wasn’t an idiot. Critical thinking skills were still somewhere in his toolkit.  
  
“Adept Armin!” The loud, enthusiastic voice was such a contrast to the peacefulness of the halls, stopping them in their tracks. An elf came from their side, stopping next to Armin with a large book in his hands.  
  
“I’ve found it! This is what you asked for, right; The Tome of Shards!”  
  
That was a _stupid_ name for a book. Sorcerers really liked to make it a mystery whether or not something was actually _valuable_ .  
  
Armin blinked, looking towards the elf but decidedly looking well past him. Jean knew that he could have focused on the other mage better, but Armin must not have cared to.  
  
“...Oh. Already?”  
  
The elf beamed, standing up a little straighter as if it mattered, and extended the book closer to Armin. “I have! Isn’t that wonderf--”  
“You never do anything I ask when it’s meant to be done; I thought I’d have all of today off. Go,” Armin raised his hand, pointing it down a nearby hallway. “Brew me a dispelling potion. I’m busy.”  
  
Without waiting to ‘see’ the elf’s dejected reaction, Armin started walking again. Jean was not even spared a glance by the poor elf before he turned, book clutched to his chest, and stomped off down the previously referenced hallway.  
  
Chuckling, Jean hurried back to Armin’s side, matching his pace again, “They let _you_ teach here?”  
  
Armin scoffed, throwing a hand up dramatically, “No! Goddess no, no. But all the initiate-types want my approval, they know it’s a good way to get recognized by their _actual_ teachers.”  
  
Though he sounded nonchalant, he sighed afterwards, hand resting at his side again. “Sometimes, it’s all I can do to get them to leave me alone.”  
  
“Okay….” Jean didn’t wanna push it, as he was sure Armin would be as enthusiastic to explain as he had been with the other mage.  
  
“Where _are_ we going, Armin?”  
  
After their morning of magically starlit _canoodling_ , they’d had their afternoon lunch, and Armin insisted they do something else together where it would be more private. Where less noble eyes would judge them.  
  
Jean wasn’t sure how spending time in this old place would be any better. He remembered the way the scholars and mages here always talked down to him, belittled his question, his pleas for help with his curse. They were all more interested in the curse itself, rather than helping the one who’d been suffering from it.  
  
“Not the barracks, I promise!” Armin laughed as they descended a darker staircase. Jean almost asked why it was so dark here, but instead he elected to stay quiet and simply grab the old wooden railing instead. Armin might have an answer for him, but what good would it do him?  
  
If Jean had been uncomfortable on their way down, he was borderline terrified as they reached their dimly lit destination.  
  
A grand, sprawling room with pale brown, rustic stones making up the majority of the architecture. Long, steaming pits of what might’ve been water, staggered throughout the expanse of the flooring. Dramatic, dark blue drapes with bright white ropes tying them to the sides of the room.  
  
This place could have been a torture chamber, or a ritual room, or a dumping ground, or all kinds of horrible things!  
  
“When’s the last time you took a bath?” Armin snorted, walking down the center aisle of the room.  
  
It was even worse than Jean thought!  
  
“What’s wrong with a little mud?” Jean snapped back, knowing that his real answer would just be used against him.  
  
He followed Armin to one of the large basins near the back of the room, and he snubbed his nose at it. So it _was_ water, but what was the purpose of a place like this? Was it really just for getting clean?  
  
“I think you have more than just ‘a little mud’ on you, Jean. And I know you’re not paying for hot water anywhere!”  
  
It was true; Jean never paid for what he could steal. And if he couldn’t steal it? He didn’t need it! Things like hot baths, thick warm beds, and roofs, were something he left behind a very long time ago, and hadn’t missed in well over a decade. Life on the road required giving those things up, and by the time Jean might afford to give such things a taste again…? He had no desire to.  
  
Armin walked over to a short metal rack against the wall, placing his staff and new daggers on their hooks. “Come on now, pick one, and strip.”  
  
Jean rolled his eyes and shook his head before looking around the room, skeptical. All of the basins were oddly long, long enough to fit almost two grown men, lengthwise!  
  
“Hm. What keeps them all so hot?” It was a lot of water to boil all at once, though he understood that the residents of the upper city _were_ incredibly lavish, he never thought they’d waste so much servant’s labor.  
  
“Ooh! It’s, this feat of engineering and magic combined. Fire enchantments keep the floor underneath us _hot_ , and there’s a really complicated system for moving the water in and out of each bath. I don’t know who designed it.”  
  
Jean noticed that Armin began to peel off his clothing, hanging his silken garments on an upright stand that sat between two basins. He followed suit, only in that he was getting naked. All of Jean’s clothes and armor simply wound up on the floor.  
  
He didn’t linger on Armin’s form, though he did note that unlike in the past, Armin’s robes no longer hid his form, mistakenly making him appear more full bodied than he really was. Now, it was clear that Armin had more muscle, more mass to his frame than his robes gave him credit for.  
  
Instead, Jean focused on the water, dipping his toes into it cautiously. Would he get burned? Was the water enchanted to harm those not part of the magical order? Or could his curse find a new way to trick him?  
  
Though, the water wasn’t scalding. It was _hot_ , definitely, but it was so soft and comforting that Jean didn’t hesitate much longer before climbing down into it. He seized up as if he’d gone into cold water, but really it was just how _relaxing_ the warmth was on his muscles that had his body in shock.  
  
More shocking yet, as Armin finally placed all his undergarments to the side, he slipped a foot into the basin that Jean was currently sitting in.  
  
“Uhhm, what are you--”  
“What?” Armin looked to Jean, brows raised. “You’re not embarrassed to look at me, are you? You’ve seen it all before! Or, are you worried about the way _you_ look?” He chuckled at the last part.  
  
Jean’s face softened, and he leaned back against the wall of the basin, “Why would I care about how I look when you can’t even see me?”  
  
Armin set his other leg in the water, then lowered himself completely into the basin, on the side opposite to Jean. “Maybe the other sorcerers? Scared they’ll see a filthy commoner like you in here, hm!”  
  
Glancing back at the staircase they’d come down, Jean did wonder if they would be interrupted at all. It was clear to him now, that the multiple rows of curtains were to give visitors privacy should they want it.  
  
“Mm. Skin is skin,” Jean shrugged, closing his eyes as he settled into the water more, its surface reaching his chest. “You know nudity’s never bothered _me_ .”  
  
When you live on the road with anywhere between 50 and 100 other people coming and going, you’re bound to see people naked. People bathing, changing clothes, people fucking, or relieving themselves in the bushes _right_ next to your headrest! He learned to get comfortable with the naked body of strangers and friends alike, _fast_ .  
  
On their travels together across the countryside, Jean and Armin had also, yes, seen each other’s body multiple times. Armin had been the most shy and secretive about it first, given that he was just a simple farmboy until he met Jean. Still, Armin’s suggestion was odd. They’d gotten comfortable with seeing each other’s more sensitive parts _ages_ ago.  
  
“Why complain, then?”  
  
Jean’s eyes opened again, and the two were staring at each other, now in silence.  
  
‘Why’ indeed.  
  
Refusing to think on it for too long, memories tugging at the back of Jean’s mind, he went back to basking in the warmth with closed eyes. “All these holes, why bathe in mine? Aren’t you afraid of my _mud_ ?” He joked, rolling his shoulders as they began to untighten. It may have been a week or so since he’d taken a proper bath, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he took a _warm_ bath!  
  
“Oh, I’m pretty confident this is more than just _mud_ !” Armin laughed, his voice growing closer.  
  
Jean peeked one eye open, just in time for him to see Armin’s hand move forward onto his chest. A finger curled, the nails scraping down his collarbone and down towards the water’s surface. He lifted his hand again, showing Jean the tip of his finger.  
  
There was a dark gray amass of mud, sweat, and all other bodily oils and filth of nature that had made its home on Jean’s skin. It was _gross_ , when scraped off like that, stuck under Armin’s short nail like that.  
  
“Do I even want to know what color this is?” Armin gave Jean a mock look of disappointment, which only brought a smile to his face.  
  
He slapped Armin’s hand down into the water, then held it there. “I wonder what I’d find if I did that to your scalp.” He knew Armin loathed getting his hair wet, even for the sake of cleanliness.  
  
With his free hand, Armin quickly held onto the back of his head, where the intricately tied up strands of hair were trapped in a hybrid bun/braid. “Don’t say things like that! I clean my hair every week, just,” He sighed out his nose, nostrils flaring briefly, “Don’t use water.”  
  
Jean lifted his head, giving an exaggeratedly suspicious look over Armin’s protected hair, like he was considering stealing it. “How long is that getting, Armin? Some less fortunate nobles in the hills beyond the city wouldn’t mind a new hairdo; Just give it a nice cut _aaand_ \--”  
“Your _tongue_ is worth more than my hair!” Armin snapped with a smile, pulling his hand free from Jean’s grasp.  
  
On the strip of stone between their basin and the next were what Jean guessed were washing supplies, as Armin grabbed a neatly folded cloth from a pile and plunged it into the water.  
  
Jean watched, letting Armin press the cloth to his collarbone, dragging it down as he’d done with his finger beforehand. The humorous smiles on their faces quickly melted away into something else, with Jean staring at the way Armin’s body moved, his arm moving slowly as he swirled the cloth around.  
  
Armin’s gaze may have been transfixed, and unseeing, but Jean had begun a long time ago to see how Armin’s body language spoke for him. With his other hand, Armin was carefully moving Jean’s legs apart, making room for Armin to get closer, to kneel over Jean more comfortably.  
  
This kind of closeness was new. For them, together, it was new. Jean tried to focus on the new details on Armin’s body, ones that hadn’t been there when they were younger. Discolorations, textures smooth and caved in, bumps that were evidence of grievous wounds that likely only healed with the help of alchemy, or elven spells.  
  
As if reading his mind, Armin’s free hand now moved up, thumb lingering on two long, thick scars on Jean’s abdomen. One went so far up it touched his lower ribs, which were all perfectly healed now, of course.  
  
Even now, Jean could sense that Armin was no healer. Yet in the past, Armin had fought tooth and nail to save Jean from two elegant, precise stabs from the daggers.  
  
Well, here they were. Both of them good as new, physically anyway.  
  
“You’re always getting into something you shouldn’t….” Armin muttered, a small grin making an appearance on his face. The swirling devolved into aimless, short and gentle scrubs, and Armin’s other hand carefully moved around Jean’s skin, feeling for something.  
  
Jean eventually felt a bit ticklish, laughing, “What are you _looking_ for? A third nipple?”  
  
Armin only smirked, his scrubbing stopping all together. He brought his face up, looking towards Jean, “Seeing how many new scars you’ve gotten without me!”  
  
With a scoff, Jean brought his hands up to move Armin’s off of him, and he stared up and down, all over Armin’s body. If that were the case? He’d make a note out all of Armin’s little imperfections, too.  
  
“Really now!? And what kind of wars have you fought with all of _those_ scars, ah?”  
  
There was even a scar on Armin’s hand; It was ugly and paling, and Jean could only imagine what kind of magical horrors this lovely institution of learning put him through to earn him a wound like that. But he wouldn’t ever ask seriously, no, never. Not to Armin.  
  
“Well it’s nothing, _ungh,_ illegal! Unlike _you_ !” Armin snicked, pulling away from Jean and splashing backwards, knees tripping over Jean’s legs as he nearly fell into the water entirely.  
  
"You really haven't mellowed much, huh?" Jean laughed, noting the downward slant to Armin's brows as he got back up.  
  
Armin patted the base of his hairdo, sighing in relief when he stopped. His hair must've avoided the water.  
  
"You don't get anything done as a quiet wallflower, Jean." He huffed, fishing the cloth out of the water.  
  
Recognizing the phrase, Jean sat up, now intrigued.  
  
"How is Annie by the way? She still doing jobs on the side?" The mercenary life often crossed, sometimes even overlapped Jean's. He never did quite understand why she joined an order run by stuffy, bureaucratic old men, and she never quite cared to explain either.  
  
Armin shifted to the side of the basin, reaching for a black pot, “Oh,” He hummed, disinterested. “ _Savant Annie_ , is actually equipped to venture outside the country. She’s….” His hand dropped into the water, more forcefully than he probably noticed. “Annie’s helping start a new chapter for the order, right across the strait.”  
  
Jean gave a slow, curious nod. He had absolutely no idea what some of that terminology was, but he got the gist of it. Annie was moving up and on with the world, and Armin was still… here.  
  
“You say that,” Jean began, moving closer to Armin. “Like you’re not allowed to go anywhere. Is that why you were so ready to help me run off into the night to steal something?”  
  
Armin only smirked at the suggestion, as they both knew that Armin got into plenty of trouble on his own within these very walls.  
  
“They don’t like sending me off alone, is all.” The way he said it sounded like they were concerned about his welfare, but Jean wasn’t sure if he was going to let himself be fooled like that. When Armin first lost his sight, _sure_ , they had Annie glued to him like some guard dog.  
  
More likely, Jean thought with amusement, they didn’t like to keep Armin alone for fear of what _he_ might end up doing to someone else.  
  
“Ahh, right. Right. So _that’s_ what you’ve been up to.”  
  
“Like _you’d_ know! And what about you, I know you don’t know how to sit still for very long.” What a subtle way for him to wonder if Jean had found anything useful in his search for a way to fix his curse.  
  
“Mmh. Sasha thought I could just… _relearn_ everything, but she goes off every now and then to find me something. Or, used to.” Jean sighed, spacing out for a moment as he thought about all the rumors, legends, myths, and then some that he chased down.  
  
It was hard not to think about it, all the failures, all the hoping, crushed time and again. Elven magic, human magic, even _fairy_ magic, oh, yes. Yes they’d heard it all, tried what was real. Jean’s sights now were on the magic of the gnomes, far, far south. Farther south than anyone he knew personally had travelled.  
  
They liked their rain up here, their long spring season, the _green_ of it all. Jean hated that he would have to get used to something else.  
  
“I don’t think there’s enough soap here to get you entirely ‘clean’.” Armin broke Jean’s messy focus, thankfully, as it was surely going nowhere good and doing so fast.  
  
“Ehhr, don’t tell me it’s _perfumed_ .”  
  
Jean leaned away, staring at the handful of pale pink shavings in Armin’s hand. They looked like flower petals almost, the quaint kind that always blew through the wind and lingered in still waters during the windy season.  
  
Armin looked a little flushed, his lips thin and cheeks slight raised as he massaged the soap flakes into the cloth.  
  
“It smells _nice_ \--”  
“It smells _disgusting_ !” Jean immediately laughed, rolling his eyes, deciding to accept the small torment.  
  
Why did the affluent always _insist_ on smelling like fruit, flowers, and smoked woods in such an artificial way? Jean smelled like all of those things just by living among it all, sleeping in it, and bathing with the regular water found in nature. Soap already was a debatable necessity, but _perfumed soap_ ? Some people really were afraid of their own smell.  
  
Armin pressed the frothy cloth to Jean’s shoulder, giving it a rough couple of scrubs. It earned him a glare from Jean, though it wasn’t a serious one.  
  
All those natural smells were part of what kept Jean’s sneaking and thieving successful! Humans, animals, even some _plants_ failed to notice him sometimes. But if this was the kind of thing Armin had grown to like, well then, Jean could suffer through it for one day.  
  
“You’re, _heheha_ , you’re _caked_ in dirt, aren’t you?!” Armin’s only sense for it had to have been the texture of Jean’s skin, or maybe the feel of the soap. It was getting rather smooth in one area, Jean noticed. The white suds however didn’t stay that way for long, sliding down his arm towards the water, becoming a light gray by the time it touched the surface.  
  
Jean watched the way Armin’s face change, how he could tell when a thought must’ve popped into Armin’s mind clearly enough to make his lips twinge, or eyes soften. He wanted to know what kind of memories Armin was recalling, but he much preferred watching Armin now than listening to him.  
  
They’d been right next to each other before in the garden, yes, but this was, different. This was different for plenty of reasons. As new as it was, though, Jean was starting to feel comfortable with it. He liked it. Catching Armin’s loose, flyaway hairs dance and bob around as he moved. The thick scarred skin of his fingers pressing the suds into Jean’s own scars, and how the cloth was, fortunately, far too finely weaved to be of much use in scrubbing at Jean’s layer of dirt. The brief sighs out of Armin’s mouth, brought on by some faraway thought or memory.  
  
He reached for a cloth himself, giving Armin pause. “What _do_ you clean your hair with?” Jean decided, if it felt this nice, then Armin might want to feel it, too.  
  
Making space for Jean to move, Armin made a noise close to a hum, like a thoughtful half-sigh. “Powder. Why d’you ask?” So skeptical.  
  
“I don’t know-- no reason, really. Just, wondering what crazy habits you’ve gotten into.” Jean rolled his shoulder slightly, as they were really beginning to loosen up and relax now from the heat. His legs would likely turn to mush if he stayed here too long, but he wasn’t all that worried about it.  
  
The floral scent of the soap flakes was so _strong_ from the pot, it was offputting. But Jean ignored it, grabbing a small handful, hoping it wasn’t too much. He didn’t remember there being a strong perfumed smell on Armin beforehand, so perhaps he didn’t use this kind of thing too much. Not that he could see why anyone would need hot water, perfume, soap, _and_ scrubbing cloths to stay clean!  
  
Splashing back into his previous spot, causing Armin to make a dissatisfied grunt, Jean did another look over of Armin. He dipped the cloth into the water, rubbed the soap into it, and,--  
“ _Ahh--_ **_ouch_ ** , Jean what is _wrong_ with you!”  
  
He’d slapped the cloth onto Armin’s chest, and earned a short, weak punch to the thigh for his troubles. It didn’t even hurt, and he just snickered at the reaction. Armin was likely more surprised than in pain.  
  
“C’mere.” Jean muttered, making space between his legs for Armin to situate himself between again. He missed the closeness.  
  
Armin shook his head for a moment, grabbing more soap flakes himself before literally throwing them at Jean.  
  
“Owhh! _Gross_ !” He hissed under his breath, then forcefully breathed out his nose to get the rare flake off of it.  
  
Their childishness now set aside, Armin returned to the way he’d nearly straddled him earlier. Jean admired how Armin could rest on his knees for so long without it hurting. The basins were definitely made of some kind of stone, though it was likely polished heavily.  
  
Now, the two of them had created a balancing act: Jean supported Armin, by using his right arm to gently hold onto Armin’s thigh, keeping him upright. And Armin used his right hand to rest on Jean’s shoulder, keeping himself steady.  
  
Jean wasn’t going to complain about this, looking up at the way Armin appeared to tower over him, what with the positions they were in. He liked the way their legs were pressed against each other, too. The way their hairs tickled each other, it was… a good kind of weird. He’d never bathed with _anyone_ before, much less with hot water and soap included.  
  
But it was clear to Jean, after a few moments filled only with the sounds of bubbles popping, water dripping, and their breathing, that this wasn’t about being clean. Jean’s motions were very awkward, and clumsy. He’s never even _bothered_ with soap before, and he didn’t know how much scrubbing it took in one area for it to work ‘right’.  
  
Armin’s scrubbing was truly pointless! There was no way he was going to get Jean completely clean, especially when he couldn’t see his progress.  
  
With a sigh, however, Jean realized that this was actually relaxing, bordering on _fun_ . This obviously wasn’t something you did with someone ordinarily, but it wasn’t the least bit sexual, either. They didn’t need it to be; And Jean didn’t want it to be.  
  
Jean paused, staring Armin in the eyes, and dropped his cloth to let it fall in the water. Armin’s brows raised, and he looked like he wanted to say something. Jean had other plans, lifting his now free hand to drape behind Armin’s neck, gently.  
  
Yanking Armin’s body closer with one short, forceful pull, their heads nearly knocked together as Armin collapsed into Jean’s embrace. He didn’t even look upset, as Jean pressed their lips together in a quick, messy kiss.  
  
Romance was not his expertise, but Armin was no blushing lover of his anyway. So, did it matter?  
  
Foreheads awkwardly pressed together, sticky from steam mingled with the sweat and oil already present there, they both had their eyes closed.  
  
They could ask what this was supposed to be, what they wanted out of each other, if this was leading to something else- Something _more_ …. But that would imply they cared about things like that. Was it not enough, to just share each other for a while, before they were apart again?  
  
Jean thought back to cold nights spent in the wilderness, the two of them pressed together for warmth whether they wanted to or not. Days where one dragged the other to a place of safety, regardless of how daunting and reckless it could be.  
The closest either of them could compare their time now to the time before, were moments hot and wet with each other’s blood. Desperate, painful, _sloppy_ work just to keep each other from fading away. Bandits, mercenaries, nobles, fairies, _nature itself_ , all slowly trying their hardest to make them suffer over forces they didn’t even know were pushing them to it.  
  
All for one damned cursed.  
  
Jean’s left hand lingered upwars, fingers twiddling with the bun of Armin’s hair. Flicking his finger, the string keeping it all together came undone, falling into the water and letting Armin’s messy locks go free.  
  
Armin made a little noise in disappointment, in shock, pulling away instinctively to reach up and fix it. Jean opened his eyes, and moved to stop him. He looked at the long, messy hair that was only half down, now tangled with itself.  
  
His hair had to have been at least twice as long as it was the last time Jean saw him, which was a stark contrast to Jean’s vigorously trimmed hair. Long, beautiful, thin hair like Armin’s wasn’t suited to life on the road, even if tied up.  
  
Without asking, Jean reached his hands up to feel the tangled mess, only pulling his fingers away as they got caught, always running them back through again. The hair was so deceivingly soft, the texture of fine silk like Armin’s robes.  
  
“What are you doing…?” Armin whispered, staring towards Jean with curious, furrowed eyebrows.  
  
Jean shook his head slowly, knowing there was no point to it. “I… I missed you.”  
  
Armin didn’t stop him, but his expression softened. He scooted towards Jean again, but he lowered himself now, practically crushing Jean’s thigh as he sat on it. Jean did grunt in discomfort, but he could handle it, had handled much worse.  
  
He resumed running the cloth up and down Jean’s body, though with no soap left on the cloth, it wasn’t doing him much good.  
  
Neither was Jean’s attempts to brush out Armin’s hair, though. Fingers could only get out so many tangles, especially with how clumsy Jean was with his hands. Any more work would likely make things worse, or even worse, just start pulling the hair out by the root.  
  
It was seemingly pointless, borderline counterproductive contact, that only served what Jean believed was their touch-starvation. This was not the kind of relationship they’d had when they were with each other last, or maybe… maybe, this was what they’d always wanted it to be.  
  
But Jean tried not to linger on it, because after all, skin was still just skin.  
  
“Mmmh….” Armin stopped, head looking down. It was a silent request for Jean to stop, which he did, pulling his hands from the tangled hair slowly as not to rip too much of it out.  
  
He lifted himself off Jean’s thigh, backing up and leaning over to grab more soap flakes. “Turn around, Jean. I bet your back is _filthy_ .” Armin’s quiet demand was casual, but it was still soft. There was still that tender, unsureness lingering in his voice.  
  
Jean stared for a bit, flexing his leg muscles to help the feeling return to his thigh. He watched as the tips of Armin’s hair finally dropped down into the water, turning a golden, warm color like that of the stone in the room. And he thought, that he’d like to see all of it like that. He wanted Armin soaked and warm: Relaxed.  
  
But he ignored the thought, moving to follow Armin’s instruction. Jean rested his arms on the stone floor of the washing hall, and he stared at the polished cracks in the bricks. He closed his eyes again as he felt Armin resume his scrubbing, this time more forcefully.  
  
The muscles in Jean’s back suddenly felt so _liberated_ , and he let out a long, drawn out moan straight from his diaphragm. Was it the heat, the pressure, or was it because Armin was the one making it happen?  
  
Armin’s hands worked into Jean’s muscles over and over again, untwisting knots in his back and introducing his spine to an entirely new sensation. He was pressed up against Jean’s side, gently, close enough that he could easily drop the cloth and just wrap his arms around Jean without any issue. Maybe Jean would like that even more.  
  
“Why’d you miss me so much,” Armin mumbled, just loud enough for Jean to hear him. “What’ve you been doing all these years, Jean? Did you ever have anyone special to...?” He trailed off, like he wasn’t even sure how he wanted to finish that sentence.  
  
Jean's eyes narrowed, sighing exasperatedly at the idea of going through his long list of partners and admirers. But there was only one that mattered, that stuck with him.  
  
"...You know me," Jean started, adding on a layer of smugness to hide the displeasure in his words. "I'll sleep with anybody; Especially if there's gold involved."  
  
The curse may have turned him into an unlucky failure, but you didn't have to have either of that to be a whore.   
  
"Mostly I just, stuck with people around camp. Or visitors, yknow?" It was always a risk sleeping with outsiders, but it was downright dangerous to attempt selling his services to them. At least, assuming they weren't well known in the camp for behaving.  
  
Armin listened quietly, the only interruption coming from the dripping sound of water pouring down his back and into the basin again.   
  
"But this one…. There's this, this one elf at camp who started playing this… _game_ with me." Jean shook his head, letting out a dry laugh.  
  
"It started out fine, I'd fuck him or he'd fuck me, I'd get my gold and he'd get his sleep, or his exercise, or a clear head for a hunt or _something_! Whatever. But he started challenging me to these bets."   
  
Armin's scrubbing stopped, but Jean didn't think anything of it after he felt the light sprinkling of soap flakes on his back.  
  
"Whoever came second, kept the gold." He wanted to laugh, because it was stupid. A stupid game for a bored elf with too much money to gamble away.   
  
"But I was only winning, I dunno, maybe a third of the time! So I was going to stop, and then he, he decided to change up the rules every so often. Whoever came _first_ got the gold, sometimes. And then he…." Jean really did laugh this time, straightening out his back for a moment.  
  
"Then he decides we should 'just practice' sometimes. Like anyone needs to 'practice' getting fucked at night in the bushes!" There was no such thing as being good or bad at sex, not the way Jean was raised. There was only knowing how to please someone, or not caring how to.  
  
"He was… fun. You know, just, nice to be around, easy to fall into the bedrolls with. I mean _everyone_ made fun of my curse, including him, but, he never talked about it when we were alone. And he liked to, to _draw me_ ."  
  
He always worried that he'd be ostracized out of the camp for doing something as stupid as stealing cursed treasure, but they were proud of him for even making it back. Their mockery was their way of showing their love.

"Jean?"   
  
"Mm?" He arched his head around, wondering if he'd missed something Armin said.  
  
"You're all tensed up, that's all." It was a curt response, one Jean noted, but didn't plan on asking about.  
  
"Oh… well, it's just. He, asked me one night, if I'd marry him." Armin was the tense one now. "Kept going on about leading the camp one day, like his parents used to forever ago. Wanted me by his side all the time…. He actually thought I could _help him_ with all that."  
  
Armin leaned in, hands firm on Jean's back. "Isn't that what you've always wanted? Why're you leaving…?" He was truly bewildered, and Jean understood, to a degree.  
  
Jean wanted to be remembered, to make something grand and important of his life. Maybe he was just some orphaned criminal, brainwashed by the romance of life on the road; But he knew that life in this country, on the whole _continent_ wouldn't work right without him and his family. Everyone from kings to fairies had employed their services before, even joining their ranks, too.   
  
What the world couldn't buy or earn, people like Jean happily stole. And that's all Jean could ever hope for: A title, a story, a mark to leave on the world in the short time he had to see it.  
  
"I can't when I'm like _this_ , Armin. And besides, I thought…." Jean sighed, staring back into the stones. "I thought we were just, playing games." There it was; The sadness in his voice.  
  
Armin took a slow, deep breath, before abandoning the cloth to the water yet again. He wrapped his arms around Jean, chest to back with him, fingers innocently stroking at the wet hairs on Jean’s abdomen.  
  
“I don’t know what’s more shocking,” He whispered, his chin digging into Jean’s back. “You not realizing the poor fool was in love with you, you getting tricked out of your gold, or that you actually fucked an elf.”  
  
Jean coughed out a long, hearty laugh, and rolled his shoulders roughly to signal Armin to let go. Which, Armin obliged fairly quickly, settling down next to the pot of soap.  
  
Turning around to sit upright again, Jean gave a half-hearted shrug. Once, he’d been so terrified of magic that associating with elves, who were inherently magical, was out of the question. He had learned to trust the ones in his camp, but he’d never have gone as far as to sleep with them. It wasn’t something Jean was proud of, but he’d been young, and _stupid_ , and now he different. He was older, and somehow even dumber. Just in the right ways, he guessed.  
  
“So, light, or dark? And what’s his name?” Armin’s tone was lighthearted, like this was harmless gossip between friends. Jean wished he could treat it like that, but, he couldn’t deny that what happened had him _depressed_ for a while.  
  
“I… actually don’t know. I think he’s both, I never asked. And his name’s,” Jean sighed, blinking away the ashamed feelings as best he could, “His name’s Efyr, he…. Actually,” He shook his head, “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”  
  
Armin looked puzzled, suspicious even, and after a moment, he scoffed.  
  
Jean was taken aback by the response. He gave Armin some time to elaborate somewhat, but, after a while it was clear that there wouldn’t be any vocalization of the _judgement_ he must’ve held towards Jean.  
  
“What is it?” He breathed out, aggravated. He’d just told Armin one of his deepest pains, did it matter how detailed he got?  
  
They had a little ‘staring contest’ for a bit, the warmth of the water not helping with the tension as it had before.  
  
Armin caved first, arms coming together to lean on the stone flooring. He looked away from Jean, too, all indicating how _defensive_ he was about to be.  
  
“You still have… your family.”  
  
Jean was shocked, his brows wrinkled and mouth pursed. He’d expected Armin to chastise him for throwing away a good man, or for unjustly being sensitive when he was the one who’d broken someone’s heart, or, well, a lot of other things.  
  
Though Armin wasn’t wrong to marvel at Jean’s strong connection with everyone in his camp. Ordinarily, the hilarious failure of his accidental self-cursing wouldn’t garner him the kind, passive gestures they showed him, like his new armor. But it had been Jean’s first time alone in the world since they’d taken him in, and many who’d watched him grow up were secretly devastated to see him wither.  
  
“I know I can’t be angry, because it’s _my fault_ , but I, just…!”  
  
Knowing exactly where this was going, Jean moved closer to Armin. Reaching his hand out, grabbing one of Armin’s, he gave a stern look. “Don’t.”  
  
Armin looked to him with narrowed brows, intensity in his eyes that painted the wetness on his face a different way. He pulled away from Jean, resting against the wall of the basin and sinking lower into it.  
  
“You artists really are the worst lovers,” Armin chuckled sadly, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin between his knees. “You’re all about instant gratification, and nothing ever really comes out the way you wanted it to, does it?” He closed his eyes, and breathed out deeply through his nose.  
  
Jean slowly sat back down, this time not much more than an arm’s length apart from Armin. He wasn’t _entirely_ wrong, but there was an argument to be made for why anyone with a passion was a terrible lover.  
  
“Armin, you have… _so much_ respect, from everyone. You’re an absolute _lunatic_ , but everyone still _reveres you_ . You wanna tell me who _you’ve_ been with lately?” Jean countered lazily, not caring about the flaws with his accusations.  
  
“They only respect me for my eyes, Jean. I’m like our founder; Blind, but gifted. It’s… ‘an honor, to be gifted with such a position’.” He mocked the voice of someone older, who talked slower and with more dignity in their voice than they likely deserved.  
  
Jean smiled, but didn’t feel like commenting. The truth of it all could be a great tragedy, or a wonderful joke. His debilitating curse, Armin’s magical prowess; One wouldn’t exist without the other.  
  
“I get bored sometimes, but, I don’t want anyone paying any mind to me just because they pity me for being blind. Or, or because they’re impressed with my magic. Or they think I can _get them somewhere_ here.” Armin went on, increasingly bitter with each word.  
  
“Wait,” Jean turned, confused. “You’re trying to tell me… that you could be having a _lot of sex_ with almost anybody in the city, but you won’t because you’re worried about how they _might_ feel about you?” Relationships be damned, sex was worth a little shame sometimes, no?  
  
Armin looked over towards Jean, face blank. “I have sex all the time-- That’s not the problem.” He didn’t return to his position, but he did look forward. “There’s no… _connection_ , here. This order of mages, an’ scholars, and all the nobles, _everyone_ in this city is just….” Armin shook his head, lowering it back to his knees once again.  
  
“If I hadn’t--”  
“ _Armi--_ ”  
“ **No** , listen to me!”  
  
The quick interaction was loud, snappy, and Jean was very thankful that they were alone here.  
  
“I’m not… I’m not _sorry_ .”  
  
They weren’t the words Jean expected to hear, and for that alone, he decided to listen.  
  
“I should probably feel guilty, Jean? But I… can’t be.” Armin turned to him again, and he outstretched a hand towards Jean’s chest.  
  
When he touched the old, thick scar on the base of his ribs, Jean turned more to give him better access to it. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt the gentle tingle of Armin’s electric shock, the warmth of it, the cold of it, how _numb_ it could make him. The thrill, of him daring to use it while they were both soaking wet. One wrong jolt, and they’d be chewing their tongues.  
  
“If you didn’t steal that charm from me,” Armin mumbled, getting closer. “ _This_ would have been me.” His fingers more roughly rubbed against the scar tissue. “You’d be fine, off fucking _Efyr_ , and I’d be robbed, lying at the bottom of a river somewhere. Dead.”  
  
Jean’s eyes shot open, and he grasped Armin’s wrist firmly, **_angrily_ ** .  
  
“ _Stop_ .”  
  
Armin didn’t recoil even though his wrist was probably in a decent amount of pain now. He gave a lazy half-shrug with his other arm, and a light shake of his head. “Everything’s fair, right? I get to live, have all this magic, and you, _well_ ….” He inhaled sharply, “I might be blind now, I might not be _happy_ , but, that’s what’s fair, isn’t it?”  
  
‘Everything is fair’, was just another lesson, an _idea_ , Armin learned in his time spent with Jean and his family. It was as close to his people got to any real faith; The grand design of the stars; Life couldn’t be controlled, _magic_ could not be controlled. **Everything** gets taken, somehow.  
  
“So why won’t you just go off and be _happy_ ?” Armin choked out, jaw trembling to stay shut after the fact, face wetter now than it had been when they were splashing around earlier like children.  
  
Jean didn’t want to hear it, not any of it, and so he tightened his grip on Armin’s wrist. He pulled him closer, and he held him there, let him whimper and gasp into his chest where no one would see.  
  
Armin did loathe crying, so, Jean decided that’s not what this was. Hiccups and hay fever. Soap in the eyes, and choking on muddy bath water.  
  
He wasn’t going to let go of Armin’s hand, but he did run his free hand across Armin’s golden hair again. This time he wasn’t trying to brush it, no, now he only cared to make it worse it seemed. Wet fingers smoothing down the tangled locks, only making them wetter, more knotted. Playing with the loose strands, soaking them all into one big, long, golden mess.  
  
If they could stay here forever, in the endless warmth of the water, then maybe they’d be alright.  
  
That’s what Jean thought, his death grip loosening, only for it to be delivered back to him in kind. Armin’s less calloused fingers wrapping their way around Jean’s dry wrist, tightly at first, and loose all over again.  
  
“I _am_ happy,” Jean mumbled, eyes staring down at their scarred, half cleaned bodies. “I’m _glad_ that you’re not sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing, who's she?  
> No but seriously I didn't edit this and the day is less than 2 hours away from being over SO! I'm going back over it as we speak, and am open to critiques!
> 
> Hit the "subscribe" button at the top to get alerts when the final chapter is published! TY for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> If I hear one "ocean eyes" song joke you owe me $60


End file.
